O, I am weary; I have runne to daye Ten miles, nay, 10 & a quarter I dare saye. You may beleeve it, for my ioyntes are numme, And every finger truly is a thumbe. For my younge hunters, Clinias & Dorastus, Surely so farre to day they have out past vs, [F. 70r rev.] That heere I am encompast round about, [600] And doe not knowe the way nor in nor out. What Holla, holla! _Ecc._ Holla, holla. Is any body nye? I. Come neere. Come neere. Whither? Hither. I prethy helpe mee foorth, els I am the rude woods forfeiture. [610] Faire feature. O lord, sir, tis but your pleasure to call it soe. Its soe. I had rather have your counsell how to gett out of this laborinthe. Labour in't. Labour in't, why soe I doe, sore against my will, but to labour out of it what shall I doe? Doe. [620] Nay, pray helpe mee out if you love mee. Love mee. Come neere, then, why doe you flye? Why doe you flye? Where b'ye? [F. 69v rev.] Heerbye. Let vs come together. Let vs come together. I prethy come. I come. [630] Let mee dye first ere thou meddle with mee. Meddle with mee. [_Exit._ _Enter_ DORASTUS, CLINIAS, _at_ 2 _doores_. _Cli._ Wast you, Dorastus, mockt mee all this season? _Dor._ Pray, Clinias, hold your tounge, y'haue little reason To make a foole of mee & mocke mee too. _Cli._ Nay, sir, twas you that mockt mee, so you doe; While heere I cald for you by greenwood side, You gibde on mee, which you shall deare abide. _Dor._ Nay, you did call mee, that I was loath to heare, Truly such woords as a dogg would not beare. [640] But as I scorne so to bee ast & knaved, Soe truly doe I scorne to bee outbraved. _Cli._ O frieng panne of all fritters of fraud, My scindifer, that longe hath beene vndrawde, Shall come out of his sheath most fiery hott, And slice thee small, even as hearbes to pott. _Dor._ Thou huge & humminge humblebee, thou hornett, Come doe thy worst, I say that I doe scorne it. _Cli._ O with thy bloud Ile make so redd my whineard, As ripest liquor is of grapes in vineyearde. [F. 69r rev.] [650] _Dor._ And with thy bloud Ile make my swoord so ruddye, As skye at eventide shall not bee soe bloudye. [_They fight & fall._ _Cli._ O, O, about my harte I feele a paine; Dorastus, hold thy handes, for I am slaine. _Dor._ This shall thy comfort bee when thou art dead, That thou hast kild mee too, for I am spedd. _Cli._ O, I am dead, depart life out of hand, Stray, soule, from home vnto the Stingian strand.